


Nightmare

by Toomanyfandoms99



Series: Skybridger Word Generator Prompts [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy, Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Ahch-To, Alternate Universe, Angst and Fluff, Established Relationship, Exegol, Hurt/Comfort, Jedi, M/M, Nightmare, Oneshot, Post-Star Wars: Return of the Jedi, References to Depression, The Force, Unknown Regions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-04
Updated: 2020-11-04
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:56:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27385312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Toomanyfandoms99/pseuds/Toomanyfandoms99
Summary: When Ezra opens his eyes, he is in darkness.  He lays on the jagged floor, curled into a tight ball on his side.  His dirty old shirt and pants are wet, his skin registering puddles of who knows what.  His head throbs and his limbs ache from his constricted position.  His dry lips tremble as he struggles to breathe in musty toxic air.“You’re not going to be of help,” the voice is sharp and unrelenting, piercing and frozen, “are you?”
Relationships: Ezra Bridger/Luke Skywalker
Series: Skybridger Word Generator Prompts [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1980082
Comments: 5
Kudos: 60





	Nightmare

**Author's Note:**

  * For [admirabletragedy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/admirabletragedy/gifts), [AlwaysandAlso](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlwaysandAlso/gifts).



When Ezra opens his eyes, he is in darkness. He lays on the jagged floor, curled into a tight ball on his side. His dirty old shirt and pants are wet, his skin registering puddles of who knows what. His head throbs and his limbs ache from his constricted position. His dry lips tremble as he struggles to breathe in musty toxic air.

“You’re not going to be of help,” the voice is sharp and unrelenting, piercing and frozen, “are you?”

Ezra struggles to search for the voice whilst blinded. His chest collapses in a forced exhale, his breath hot and sour from hunger. 

He searches for a light, any source of light, before a torch is cast above him. He rolls on his back, joints protesting, and squints up at the flames.

Crimson eyes and cerulean skin are removed from the shadow, fire licking his expression. “Do you have any inkling of motivation to make yourself useful, Bridger?”

Ezra’s entire body undergoes acupuncture, nerve endings prickling with the mixture of wet and cold and rocky sensations. His muddled brain, though, is desensitized, far away, somewhere in the crackling sparks of the torch fire.

He licks his lips, the inside of his mouth, to disperse what little moisture he has left. His tone comes out like sandpaper. “What makes you think you need me, Thrawn?”

Thrawn scowls down at him. “Perhaps I should have killed you on Ahch-To. Those infantile screeching puppets could have pecked at your remains for weeks.”

Ezra smiles at the blurry memory that surfaces, floats behind his eyelids. “They were called porgs.”

Thrawn emits a low growl, his blood eyes growing harsh. “Let yourself decompose, then.”

The torch is wrenched away with Thrawn’s curt movement. He leaves Ezra’s sight and meanders around the contents of wherever they are; Ezra stopped caring long ago.

Ezra does not know how much time passes where he lays on the uncomfortable floor, drifting in and out of consciousness. It could be minutes, hours, or even days.

Thrawn’s eyes, though, eventually return, upside down. Magma planets stare and stare, head tilted as if studying him.

After emitting a disappointed sigh, the barrel of a blaster digs into Ezra’s forehead. His eyes fly open in full awareness at Thrawn’s smirk.

This didn’t happen. No.

Thrawn’s hand ghosts the trigger. Laughter lingers in his expression, oozing from every blue-skinned pore. 

His thumb presses against the button. Heat metastasizes in the barrel, smoking and holding and burning.

As the blast is fired, launched, singeing the tip of the barrel, Ezra jolts awake gasping.

Motion sensors register his movements, light filling the shadows of the room. It is a thunderclap to his vision as he adjusts. 

He breathes heavily, lungs screaming at his upright position. He clutches the sheets, fixating on the blank wall while he gains his bearings.

That was months ago. He was in that cave on Exegol months ago. He’s safe. He’s on a base. Everyone is a couple halls away in their own rooms.

But his heart hammers, airways banging on his ribcage and stabbing his stomach. He squeezes his eyes shut and grips the sheets with both hands. He sways whilst sitting up and exhales deeply out of his mouth. 

He focuses on breathing in and out, in and out, in and out, until his frantic heartbeat subsides. He opens his eyes, getting used to the pounding lights in the bedroom.

He won’t be sleeping again tonight. Not if he was here. Maybe-

No.

But maybe…

Maybe.

Senses rattling dully, Ezra untucks himself from the covers, legs swinging over the side of the bed. His socks touch the carpet and he uses his palms to push himself up. 

He sighs at himself as he pads across the space and exits the bedroom. He is the only one awake in this sector, the dimly-lit halls quiet; with no Empire and more Jedi emerging, the Republic didn’t need guards.

Ezra walks towards the room at the very end of the hallway. When he stands in front of the sliding door, he hesitates.

Now that he’s here, he’s not so sure his boyfriend would enjoy being woken up at two in morning because Ezra can’t deal with his own bullshit. 

Ezra crosses his arms and curls in on himself a little. He’s so stupid. Why did he think this was a good idea? Their relationship was still so new and delicate that Ezra was afraid he would ruin it already.

This was different. This was real. Ezra wouldn’t know what to do without him.

So now that he had made his new decision, he takes a shaky step backwards. The movement solidifies in his mind.

And then the bedroom door whooshes open.

Ezra’s heart thumps. When darkness save for a lamplight in the corner greets him, he freezes.

As if in answer, the lights installed into the ceiling are turned on to a dim shade. A golden overcast plays across a table full of books, a fresher door, and a messy bed.

A figure shifts under the sheets, rolling onto the side to regard Ezra in the doorframe. His hair takes on a bronze tone, eyes glittering. His metal prosthetic arm shines as it props up his head, elbow attacking the pillow.

“Come here,” Luke says gently, patting the pillow beside him as an invitation.

Ezra worries his lip, heart in his throat. He swallows thickly, rooted to the spot.

Luke smiles dazedly. “Come on. I won’t bite you.”

Ezra finds himself smiling back. A warmth and ease spreads through his body. Luke is asking for this quip, so he enters the bedroom and voices it:

“Sure you won’t, lip-biter.”

Luke’s grin splits his face as Ezra approaches the bed. He untucks his arm away from his expression, his cheek pressing against the pillow. His prosthetic grips the edge of the sheets and unfolds them. The mattress is rendered bare and ready for his arrival.

The offer couldn’t be clearer. Pushing down an overactive imagination, Ezra slowly and calmly shifts so his knee rests against the mattress. He moves to a crawl before lying on his side. He grabs onto the sheets and pulls them over his body, settling on the pillow beside Luke.

Ezra blinks when their noses brush. He blushes and scoots back an inch. “Sorry.”

Luke’s expressive eyes study him in amusement. “You’re fine. Are you okay?”

Ezra’s instinct is to smile and placate him with an obvious lie, but that’s not what he wants to do. Not with Luke.

“I, uh,” Ezra fights the urge to look away, “had a nightmare about Exegol.”

Luke nods in understanding. “Wanna talk about it?”

Ezra shakes his head. He trusts Luke, certainly, but Luke shouldn’t have to deal with it. What Ezra went through with Thrawn in the Unknown Regions is the past; he’s living in the present. He’s living for Luke, for his family, for his new friends.

“I get it,” Luke murmurs, shifting to place a kiss between Ezra’s brows, “just breathe.”

The reminder makes Ezra realize he is holding on an exhale. His lungs fall slowly as the breath comes out of his nose. His cheek curves into the pillow comfortably as Luke waves off the lights. He leaves the lamp on so that it outlines Luke’s hair. 

The sheets rustle. An arm is extracted from underneath the covers. The prosthetic glints, fingers resting on Ezra’s shoulder. It hesitates as it smooths out Ezra’s sleeve.

Under the pocket of darkness, Ezra shifts a leg to hook over Luke’s ankle. He tests the weight. When it yields, no protest from Luke, Ezra tangles their lower legs together, socked feet layered over one another. 

Since something had to give, Luke straightens his spine a bit. He emphasizes his height so that their torsos press against each other. Luke’s prosthetic hand returns, fingers splaying against Ezra’s ribcage. In answer, Ezra’s unrestrained arm rests at the hemline of Luke’s pajama pants. 

Ezra tucks his head lower, Luke’s chin atop his bedhead. Ezra brushes his nose in the hollow of Luke’s throat, enjoying the present warmth and slow thump of his boyfriend’s heartbeat. He closes his eyes and rests his lips on the neckline of Luke’s sleep shirt. 

He has no qualms about inhaling Luke’s scent, prodding at his feather-light Force signature. He asks the clouds for permission, if this is okay, and the soft moisture envelops him in acceptance. 

Sighing in relaxation, Ezra sinks beside Luke and closes his eyes. Within minutes, his mind dips into unconsciousness.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments fuel me!


End file.
